


Passion

by Cassidy_And_The_Company



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassidy_And_The_Company/pseuds/Cassidy_And_The_Company





	Passion

One of the first things Tauriel had noticed about Erebor was that the wine there tasted different from what she was used to in the Woodland realm. 

In the forest, it was light, less potent, with more of a cherry-like aftertaste that left one fairly lightheaded after perhaps three glasses. Here, however, it was thick, musky and rich, stronger and more potent, bitter and leaving a heady, not-unpleasant taste coating her tongue after she swallowed it. It made her dizzy after a single glass, but she had to admit she was beginning to prefer dwarvish wine to what she was used to.

Among other things, of course.

Even as the thought passed through her mind she caught sight of the younger prince, leaning casually against the wall next to his brother, legs crossed and dark eyes glittering with amusement. His dark hair fell forward into his eyes and he lifted a hand to brush it away just as he noticed her watching him. 

He tossed her a careless, roguish smile, one she returned, feeling a blush creep up in her cheeks. She looked away quickly, before he could notice. She hastily sipped more wine, hoping he hadn't seen how flustered she'd been. 

Quickly looking in the other direction, she attempted to busy herself looking at something—anything—else. She looked up just as she saw a flash of crystalline blue eyes, eyes like the purest, cleanest flame, and just as searing. She cursed fate and made to turn, but then they landed on her just as she was about to look away, making her stop dead.

While the prince had grinned at her, uncaring and reckless and unbridled, the king's gaze was watchful, guarded, closed. He merely scowled at her and turned away before she could do so herself, affording her an eyeful of his regal profile as he did.

She set her wineglass down with a clatter, feeling a familiar feeling close up her throat, cutting off her breath. Her fingers clenched into fists and she quickly strode towards the opposite end of the hall, where she could see the door, ajar. She slipped out of the hall quickly, moving down the corridor.

She found the balcony quickly, considering; the last time she had made to escape one of those social events she had ended up in another wing of the kingdom entirely. She pushed the doors open, gasping in the clear mountain air, untinged by smoke and dust. 

She kicked off her heels, reveling in the cold, smooth stone beneath her bruised feet. Her fingers reached up, tangling in the strings that held her wrap closed. She tugged, and they unraveled; she stepped forward, allowing the wrap to fall to the floor next to her shoes. 

She moved to the railing, fingers encircling the cold metal as she looked out over the bare, snowy expanse of the foothills of the Lonely Mountain, dotted here and there with stripped, skeletal shrubs and trees. It smelled like winter—frigid air tinted with the promise of snow, pine needles, frozen earth. 

It was her first winter at the Lonely Mountain, her first winter as the ambassador from the elves. She had been there since early fall, for four or so months. It had been roughly a year since the battle, and since then Erebor had made steady progress, burgeoning under the careful tending by the king's hand. 

She had gone back to the forest, of course, after the battle; her king had allowed the incident at Dale to pass, not even mentioning it. When she had probed, he had shut her down formally but firmly. She had understood it as an invitation and had taken it, and while she was happy, the forest had lost its luster for her—her only friend had vanished, gone north to search for the Rangers, and she was too restless to stay there any longer.

She had sat underneath the trees for hours, the words of her king echoing in her ears. _What you feel for that dwarf is not real. You think it is love? Are you ready to die for it?_ She had mulled them over for hours at a time, searching inside herself, for anything that could point her in the right direction. 

At the end, the answer had come to her in the form of a proposition—an ambassador, Thranduil had said, one that would travel to Erebor, help fix what had broken all those years ago, help restart the gears that had sat rusting for so long. 

At first she had refused. She had wanted a little more time, to soak in the peace and contentment that the aftermath of the war had brought. But the longer she had thought about it, the more she realized she had left part of herself in the Mountain, given it to Kili in the frenzy of the battle, amidst the blood and snow and stone. 

She felt an unmistakable pull inside her, one that she felt tethered her to him, no matter the distance. So she had agreed to go, though she hadn't known what to expect there. She certainly hadn't expected her feelings to have remained unchanged even after more than a year. Nor had she expected the other obstacle she had come to face in the past few weeks—

"You're not cold?"

The prince's voice rang out suddenly from behind her, so suddenly she jumped. Should it have been the Tauriel from six months ago, she would have been too well-trained to startle so easily. But four months as a diplomatic, peaceful emissary had softened her reflexes, the warrior in her having taken more of a backseat after the war.

She was glad the cold stung her burning cheeks, hiding the color that had bloomed there at the sight of him. "Not at all," she said, moving aside as he came up to her, hands in his pockets. "I enjoy the cold."

"That makes one of us." He smiled at her like an angel, with no guile behind it at all. "It chases away the animals and plants, and keeps the grass from growing." He pointed downwards, at the snow that blanketed the ground in a thick white carpet. "In spring, those slopes are covered with trees and shrubs."

"And to that I am no stranger," she said, and invariably her shoulders relaxed, her body loosening as she relaxed somewhat. Kíli had a gift to put anyone around him at ease, she had noticed. Even his uncle softened in his presence, the faint lines bracketing his mouth fading and the taut muscles of his back unknotting, if only for a while. 

"I assume you didn't run off because of our terrible hospitality." He raised an eyebrow at her—clearly waiting for an explanation. She sighed, tapping the railing with a finger. Her nails as they struck the metal made a faint, sonorous _ping_ each time. 

"I... It was a little overwhelming, that is all," she said haltingly. "I am unused to such situations. Back home, we had small gatherings, and usually outside beneath the stars..." She smiled st the memories. 

"I miss home, more every day. Though I must admit I was not happy there, which was why I asked to come here..." She trailed off, feeling very vulnerable suddenly. "I'm sorry, I don't need to burden you with such talk." She looked down, biting her lip.

But he only reached out and took her hand in silence, and she laced her fingers with his gratefully, glad for his warmth and nearness. They stood there in silence, their hands linked as they looked at the sky, strewn with stars like diamonds scattered across black velvet—the elf and the dwarf who whispered to the stars, and the stars who whispered back.

***

Tauriel walked towards the throne room, feeling her heart skittering unevenly as she walked. She felt oddly nervous, though for the life of her she couldn't fathom why.

She pushed the doors open, striding along the long, slender passageway that led to the throne. She tried hard not to look down over the sides, where green marble gave way to empty air, plunging straight down a thousand feet. Her footfalls were loud and echoing in the hollow chamber, and the pillars seemed to be whispering to her as she walked by. 

Every step she took brought her closer to the throne, and the gleaming jewel sunken into its back, cradled by intimately linked golden designs that echoed the craftsmanship of the dwarves. It was like an orb of clearest crystal, and within lay a beating heart made of stars and suns and moons, exploding in galactic colors of blue and gold, pink and white. No matter how many times she layed eyes on the Arkenstone, it took her breath away every time. 

"You wished to speak with me, my lord?" She refrained from bowing with a certain degree of difficulty; he had asked her not to, though he hadn't told her why. It had proven to be quite the task; his presence was one that exuded authority, and with the crown gleaming on his head besides, he looked every inch a king. 

He only nodded, saying nothing. He wasn't sitting on the throne—come to think of it, she didn't think she'd ever seen him sitting on it—but was rather standing on the passageway, the light from the Arkenstone gilding his form in pale light. He was, she thought (not for the first, nor the last time) rather unreasonably tall for a dwarf. 

"I only wished to ask you how long your king intends to keep you here," he said, and he wasn't looking at her. "It has been quite a while already." 

Her lip caught on her teeth. "I hope I have not overstayed my welcome," she said cautiously. 

"Not at all," he said smoothly, nodding to her. There was nothing in his eyes that betrayed any emotion, as it always was. There was, however, a slight hesitance to his posture, to the set of his shoulders and the way his eyes darted around, faint but evident. "I simply wondered whether an elf would feel less comfortable surrounded by stone rather than forest, for so long." 

She had to smile, but it melted like ice into water. "It is no trouble," she said. "The kingdom is beautiful in its own way." She meant it, hoping it showed in her words. 

"If you think it is beautiful now, you should have seen it before the day the dragon came." There was wistfulness in his voice, along with a sort of raw pain, one that filtered through the cracks in the stone wall history and time had erected between now and then. He moved to the edge of the passage, looking out over the kingdom spiraling beneath his feet. "It was a thousand times as bright, and a thousand times as beautiful."

"It will be that and more, soon." She joined him at the end of the passageway, looking down at the lights and corridors that spun away underneath. "She is still growing, and she has a good King, loving and faithful. She will be thrice what she once was, under your care." 

He looked over at her, an odd expression on his face. She looked back at him, unblinking. The moment seemed to stretch on for forever, and there were words, burning at her lips, but she couldn't say them. Their eyes locked for a second too long.

She blinked, breaking the spell, moving back towards the throne suddenly. She felt suddenly breathless, as if she'd been running. She swallowed hard, looking down at her fingers, laced tightly together as if to form a cage that would hold her feelings in.

"Don't," he said softly, and his gaze as it alighted on her was curious, laced with something else, something that made her skin crawl and her heart race. "Don't run."

"I don't wish to..." _to presume too much, or presume at all,_ she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat. He stepped closer, and she felt rooted to the spot.

"I know you've been watching me," he murmured, taking the fabric of her sleeve between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing it between them. "I can see your eyes following me." He cut his own up to her, blue as the purest flame, and she swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. 

She felt trapped suddenly, the throne behind her and Thorin in front of her, and the slender corridor she stood on, hanging suspended a thousand feet in the air. A few feet to either side and it ended in a sheer drop, empty space spinning away beneath her feet. 

"I know what you want from me..." His voice was impossibly deep, rich, commanding. Freshly crowned he may have been, but already he exuded power, authority, regality, as if he had held it all his life and had not been given his crown only a few months ago. 

"Even now you cannot hide it," he went on, and perhaps it was simply her over-reactive imagination, but his voice was slightly uneven. His lips were slightly parted, his fingers still gently gripping the sleeve of her tunic. 

She wanted to deny it, tell him that she didn't want anything from him, that she didn't look at him, that her eyes didn't always cling to him wherever he went, him and his nephew. She wanted to deny that the moment her eyes had fallen on him she had thought he was beautiful, that she had marveled at how similar he and Kíli looked and yet so different.

How both of them appealed to her equally, for entirely different reasons—Kíli's warm laugh, his quick, frequent smiles; Thorin's rarer smiles, the brief upward curl of his lips; Kíli's large dark eyes; Thorin's impossibly broad shoulders; Kíli's soft, full lips; the inky waterfall of Thorin's hair... She could not deny she wanted them both. 

"I—I cannot," she said, but her trembling voice gave away her desire. "I am but a lowly ambassador, not even an elleth of high rank—I have no right to..." _to look at the king and the prince and want,_ whispered a voice in her head. 

"I'm sorry," she said—though she had no idea what she was sorry for— moving back so that his fingers were forced to free the fabric of her sleeve. "I will take my leave of you now, your Majesty." 

He looked almost surprised as she backed away, swallowing hard. His lips parted, and he shook his head, moving to go after her. "My words were not to reprimand you," he said, the light in the room sparking off the crown on his head. "Nor... nor were they to lead you to believe I do not want the same." His gaze was steady on hers. 

Her breath caught in her throat. "Then..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Then what were they?" 

His eyes searched her face. "An invitation," he said. 

A sharp exhale escaped her lips. She shook her head again, scrambling backwards. She felt suddenly out of breath, as if she had been running for miles. It was getting harder and harder to leash in the desire that had bloomed slowly inside her, to tamp down the urge to reach out, touch him, feel his skin against hers. "I cannot," she said again, instead, but her voice was weaker, thinner, more transparent. "You know I cannot." 

She stepped away, breathing hard. His eyes slid slowly over her face, and she felt sparks trail across her skin wherever he looked at her. She felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, one that spread heady heat inside her body. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice uneven. 

Before he could say anything she moved away, nearly tripping over her own feet as she hurried down the passage away from the throne. She closed the doors behind her and then she was running, running along the corridor and away from the doors, as if she could somehow distance herself from her own weakness, her own mistakes, and tried to ignore the keening voice in her mind that begged her to turn back again.

***

Snow swirled outside, the wind tearing through the sky and whistling loudly through the slender cracks between windows and balcony doors. But inside the hall, all was bright and cheerful, and the storm outside was all but forgotten. There were drinks and laughter to spare, and the hall was, however vast, warm and smelled dizzyingly of chocolate and wine.

She had just moved on to her third glass when a figure slid into the chair next to hers, also holding a glass. "My lady," Kíli said charmingly, flinging her a cheeky smile. "How is the party treating you?"

"Better than it should be," she laughed, raising her glass. He clinked his against hers and they both drank, holding the other's gaze as they did. "I must say, it's very... welcoming." She leaned towards him, feeling suddenly emboldened by all the wine and the warm golden light spilling around her. 

"The night is still young," he said, gesturing grandly around them. "There's plenty of welcoming to be done still." 

"I'm sure." Their faces were inches apart. His eyes flicked to the far end of the hall and she slewed her own gaze to where he had looked, and saw a door, slightly ajar and spilling shadows onto the floor. Her eyes went back to his and he raised his eyebrows, and there was something wicked gleaming there, something reckless and inviting and oh so enticing. 

"Nobody will notice we've gone," he murmured, and she felt her lips pull upwards. "Even if they do, I wouldn't care," she breathed back. 

He grinned at her, downing the rest of his glass in one. He stood, offering her his hand. "Then, may I lead the way?"

She threw back her own drink, feeling the way it trailed a path of fire down her throat and sent a lull traveling all throughout her body. Standing, she placed her hand in his. "I thought you would never ask." 

He pulled her after him through the crowd, and she could feel her heart hammering in anticipation as the door drew nearer and nearer. They slipped through it, and it closed with a faint click behind them. Beyond was a hall of sorts, hollow and held up with pillars. Arched windows made up one wall, tinged with color here and there.

"That was surprisingly easy," he said, and she laughed, her fingers lacing with his. "I'm glad it was," she said.

His grin faded as he pulled her closer, his sure fingers spreading over her lower back as his other hand went to her cheek, the calluses on his palm rough and oddly arousing against her skin. Her eyes fell shut as her lips parted in anticipation, her fingers winding into the fabric of his tunic just as their lips met.

It blossomed out of control instantly, catching fire like dry tinder that a stray spark had lit. He tugged her closer, pushing her up against one of the pillars that lined the stone hall, his lips moving frantically against hers. She retaliated, reeling beneath it, feeling exhilaration and wonder and wanting all at the same time, but even as her fingers tangled in his hair she felt that there was something missing—

She caught the faintest flicker of movement in her periphery and immediately pulled away, breathless. If she hadn't been an elf, she would never have caught it—the movement of a shadow on the marble floor, so faint it was nearly invisible. 

Kíli frowned at her, half-dazed. "Tauriel, what?" She opened her mouth to tell him, a sort of incredulous panic rising in her chest.

Even so, she was half a second too late.

A figure rounded the corner, and a choked gasp escaped her as she recognized it, not knowing whether to curse fate or thank it—tall, slender, eyes that glowed burning blue even in the shadows, a gold-and-black crown gleaming atop black hair that spilled over impossibly broad shoulders. 

Kíli swore softly and colorfully under his breath, making to distance himself from her; there was no point in trying to hide what they had been doing—it was fairly obvious, after all—but her fingers clutched at his shoulders, keeping him in place as her eyes ran over the king. She felt somehow detached from reality, as if she were watching herself from a distance. 

"Thorin," Kíli gasped, face flushing. "I—we were—"

He only held up a hand, and it felt to her as if he was deliberately not looking at her at all. Kíli fell silent, biting his lip. Tauriel wished she could read the king's expression; he looked entirely opaque, save for a faint shadow in his eye, though whether it betrayed anger or something else, she didn't know. 

"Perhaps you should choose a less... conspicuous place for such a meeting," was all he said, curtly, before dipping his head stiffly and turning to walk away. 

A sort of half-mad impulse took hold of Tauriel, one that made her stand straighter, still gripping Kíli's shoulders. Before she could advise herself against it she called out, "Wait." Her voice carried clearly in the stone corridor, flitting around the pillars before fading away. 

He stopped, but didn't turn. 

_An invitation,_ he had said. The words still echoed in her ears, the key that could unlock a thousand doors should she allow it. And allow it she would.

"Wait," she said again, softly this time. She glanced at Kíli, who was frowning at her, brows furrowed. She nodded, and his eyes widened as they cleared in understanding—and then sparked with something almost resembling curiosity, intrigue. 

"If a less conspicuous place is what you would wish," she said, and her voice was breathless, "then you may lead the way."

She saw his shoulders stiffen, but he still didn't turn. She could feel her own heart racing, making the pulse in her neck flutter wildly beneath her skin. "Yesterday," she went on, wondering idly if he could hear her pounding heartbeat; it certainly _seemed_ loud enough. "You gave me something. I rejected it then, but I accept it now."

His back was still to them, but he had turned his head ever so slightly to the side. She could see only shapes and suggestions of his face, the planes and angles that made it up; the cliff of his cheekbone, the brushstrokes of his eyelashes, the curve of his lips. 

"I hope it is not too late," she breathed, softly.

And, more softly still, came the reply. "No," he said. "It is not."


End file.
